


at ease

by thir13enth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, and then look what happened, how dare i hybrid, how i dare i be so ungrammatical, i thought this was going to be normal prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>breathe in. breathe out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at ease

**Author's Note:**

> i am trash. i didn’t sign up for this. but this ship has taken me to infinity and beyond. (pun fully intended. both of them.)  
> forgive me.

It starts as an itch and then it grows into his toes—a cold sharp scratch that begins at the ends of his metal limb and seeps like frostbite into his veins, trailing over his skin in the same way the shadow of the setting sun would crawl inch by inch, second by second over a beach’s horizon and leave the salty air in a chilly hush.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

His lips quiver. His jaw clenches. He’s cold. He’s shivering. He’s wrapped up under two layers of the thickest and the most comfortable blankets in the entire castle-ship and he _still_ feels dead cold from inside out, feet curled into himself, hands tucked under his arms, knees hugging his chest.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

He’s Takashi Shirogane, for god’s sake. He’s stronger than the temperature, mightier than the universe, greater than the test of time. Flown into the mysteries of space to answer his planet’s questions, interrogated until he couldn’t think, tortured until he couldn’t answer, forced to fight until his bones broke, experimented on until his humanity was lost—he’s _Takashi Shirogane_ , for fuck’s sake. He could survive just another subzero night.

Right?

_Breathe in, breathe out._

The cold is haunting, whispering terrible things into his ear—the same things over and over again like how the tides come back again and again to meet the sandy edges of the beach, wave after wave knocking down every castle that he builds and rebuilds to try to make a comfortable home somewhere for himself. The same things over and over again like—

You were never fit for the role. Who the hell do you think you are? Who do you think returned your right arm with ten thousand times more strength? Are you even _thinking_ of trying to steal the throne from the king of the universe—the _true_ Black Paladin?

_Breathe in, breathe out._

Have you forgotten who captured your ship and all your crew? Have you forgotten all the people you have let down because of your defeat? Have you forgotten every single mistake that you only now regret now that you’re seeing the consequences of your past catching up to you?

You can see them reflected in their eyes, can’t you?

Their dead families.  
Their shattered hopes and dreams.  
Their will to stay alive to fight with you in a battle you will _never_ win—for whatever lifetimes you survive—against the mighty and great Zarkon because you.

are.

a failure.

.

.

Oh, you’re not?

You’re trying your best to correct your mistakes? You’re taking responsibility for the lack that you did not when you had to? You’re reminding yourself every day that you’re atoning for sins so heavy that you cannot even carry them? You think this makes things better? What are you?

You still think you’re the Black Paladin? The _true and rightful_ Black Paladin?

Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? What are you?

Not human. Not machine.  
Not dead. Not alive.  
Not evil but not the _least_ bit good either.

A fake. You’re a fake. You

are.

a—

“—Shiro.”

His eyes snap open. Her warm warm hand is on his cheek and her warm warm gaze is on his eyes.

“Breathe, Shiro. Breathe.”

He listens. He follows her instructions until his lips have color and until his trembling stops.

“You were shaking,” she says. “Shaking so _much_.”

Her eyebrows are furrowed. Her lips are in a frown. Worried. Worried. She is _worried_ about _him_ —

“…god, I’m sorry,” he murmurs into the pillow. “I should be stronger…”

(at least to get through the night.)  
(at least.)

He buries his face into the sheets.

“No, Shiro. Stop,” she tells him, turning his head back to her with a gentle push of his shoulder. “Relax. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re here. You’re with me.”

Her hands run down from his neck, over his shoulders, over his arms—warm. Muscle by muscle, limb by limb, the cold retreats and the warm settles and when he feels the metal wires align with his tissues and veins, when he feels his human heart beating at the tips of his machine fingers, when he can inhale and exhale without a whimper—

_Breathe in, breathe out._

Everything resettles. It is a tick past the third hour. It is the two-hundred-and-fourth day of the solar year. He is one of the five Paladins and he is going to save the universe with the rest of his new teammates. He is the Black Paladin and he will right all the former’s wrongs. He is Tadashi Shirogane and he is lying in bed under the thickest and most comfortable sheets on the castle-ship with Princess Allura, the last of Altea. He is warm and he is _breathing_.

Her hand traces back to the side of his head, fingers combing through the unruly white tuft on his head.

“One day your nightmares will disappear, too,” she tells him.

“I’m not the Balmera,” he reminds her, with a crooked smile—a crude attempt at humor. “I’m not going to be healed just by your touch.”

She smiles. She presses her face into the crook of his neck and plants a soft kiss along his jaw.

“Well,” she replies softly. “A kiss certainly can’t hurt, can it?”


End file.
